


familiar turns foreign

by shoutz



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Sex, F/M, Light Bondage, Rope Bondage, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz
Summary: Urianger is needy and Y'shtola is a bro about it. Mild Shadowbringers spoilers! Set sometime before 5.0.“I usually pride myself on my ability to predict you and your secrets, Urianger, but I’ll admit this caught me by surprise,” she says, and he can hear a smile in the lilt of her voice.Hear, of course, because he cannot see it, blindfolded as he is. Unorthodox, indeed.
Relationships: Urianger Augurelt/Y'shtola Rhul
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54





	familiar turns foreign

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuntAgony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntAgony/gifts).



> This was a Secret Santa gift for the inimitable and incredible Aunt Agony! Thanks for putting on such a cool event as well as being like, the realest, and rad as hell in general.
> 
> Title and vibes from [I O U — You Me At Six](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FAqZm2UxHTg)

Several years have passed since Urianger found himself summarily summoned to a different world — one eons apart from his own, yet similar in myriad ways. Enough to almost feel like another home, though naught could compare to the Source and all her glory. His companions made their individual ways here, as well, though in their own time. A time which finds itself split from the Source, if their reactions are any indication. They have since scattered to the various corners of this world, about their own businesses, and seldom have the opportunity to make time for one another.

This, however, is one of the rare instances in which that poor, lonely habit does not hold sway.

Though Y’shtola is not usually available for company, with her business in the Rak’tika Greatwood keeping her at the beck and call of so many others, she in all her many graces was kind enough to make time. Despite Urianger’s…unorthodox request.

“I usually pride myself on my ability to predict you and your secrets, Urianger, but I’ll admit this caught me by surprise,” she says, and he can hear a smile in the lilt of her voice.

Hear, of course, because he cannot see it, blindfolded as he is. Unorthodox, indeed.

Ropes hold his limbs secure, trussed like an animal before a meal is made of its flesh. Bare save for the gold and rubies that usually adorn his dark robes, at Y’shtola’s insistence, he lay ever at her mercy. She had shown remorse that his intricate belt and adornments would not work without the rest of his garments, but when he had allowed her to strip him of them herself, she settled. The others across his arms and hands refuse to accommodate the flexing of his muscles, constricting his biceps and forearms even as they reflect warm candlelight. The only piece of jewelry not constricting him in some way is the gold at his neck, a blessing for his ability to draw breath and speak, if necessary.

Though she had been rather insistent he hold his tongue. 

“I cannot deny how lovely it is to have you like this… And without your boundless verbal eloquence to afford you some dignity. I would thank you for the honor.” He can hear her footsteps, featherlight upon stone as she wanders around him. “Do let me know if aught discomforts you. A snap of your fingers should do the trick,” she says, and Urianger affords her a short nod. He snaps, once, to demonstrate his willingness to cooperate, and she smooths a hand across his chest as a reward.

He squirms in response to the touch, a gentle caress heightened by his own desperation. Though he doesn’t make it far, with his arms and legs trussed as they are. He can do scant more than writhe, begging silently for more in the only method available to him.

“I will admit, I didn’t think of you as someone who sought… _this_ sort of pleasure. But far be it for me to deny you. You have, indeed, been through so much.” A finger slips beneath one of the ropes binding his thigh, pulling idly, testing her work. “Always in control… I am humbled that you would relinquish that control unto me.”

Urianger opens his mouth to speak, the one faculty that had been afforded to him, but she interrupts with a firmer tug on the rope. “Now, Urianger, I left you your mouth, but that does not mean I grant you leave to use it.” He senses a faint grin on her face as she speaks, “At least, not for talking. As much as I love to hear you blather.”

If his cheeks did not burn hot enough before, they certainly are now. His mouth shuts itself obediently.

She chuckles at this, low, voice even more akin to honey than usual: slow, rich, sweet. “So eager. But fine. Far be it from me to deny you your pleasures.”

Two hands smooth up either of his thighs, skimming over the ropes holding him down. He flexes, an instinctive squirm in response to heightened sensations, but she only chuckles again. The hands make their way to his hip bones, and a whine threatens to escape his throat at how close they linger to what will hopefully be their final destination.

“Would that I could see you,” he murmurs, a risk. Y’shtola pauses for a brief moment, considering the consequences of his talking out of turn, but then begins to knead gentle fingers into his skin.

“Would that I could see _you_ , Urianger.” He frowns. She sounds far away, with too much on her mind, and more on her heart. It fades quick enough, “But we shall both have to settle. Though I can see a bit of you, or at least your aether, I have learned over time that losing one sense…tends to heighten the rest. Allow me to convince you that it is for your own good.”

“It cannot be easy for you to live as such,” he says, quiet as before, not sure if the path he treads is welcome. But Y’shtola has never been one to shy from the roiling emotions that accompany being a Scion of the Seventh Dawn.

“It is difficult,” she responds, and now he can feel the breath warm against his flushed skin, “but not impossible.”

Gentle kisses press against his skin, lighting sparks of searing heat in their wake as they trail ever closer to where he deeply desires them. Softly, feather light, her lips touch the base of his cock, and the contact has him squirming. A choked noise finds its way out of his lungs and into the air, followed by a gasp when lips close abruptly around the tip and _suck_.

The sensation doesn’t last long, though Urianger wants nothing more. She pulls away but lingers close, breaths chilling the warmth and wetness she left behind. Instead, she wraps a warm hand around the length, pumping once at a more than leisurely pace.

“I’m glad I let you keep your mouth, if only for noises such as that,” she says, and one of her hands disappears from his skin, “Pray do not hold them back. Worry not about the Night’s Blessed, their quarters are far enough removed from mine to afford us a bit of privacy.”

He jerks his head in a short nod, untrusting of his lips to convey the message clear enough for his standards. She continues her painstaking attentions, musing softly against his hips, “How long has it been, Urianger? Have you ever let someone so close as this?” In response he bites his lower lip, hoping the question is rhetorical. “You seem so lonely… Sequestered away in your knowledge and secrets and obscurity.”

As she speaks, she nudges his thighs apart, and he blushes at being manhandled with such confidence, and even deeper at the exposure. A slick finger finds its way to his vulnerability, careful as it applies barely enough pressure to enter him.

“I do hope your isolation will soon cease. For your sake and for ours.” Urianger can only writhe, can only attempt to keep his breathing even as her glacial pace wrings pleasure from him. There are several answers which jump to attention, soothing balms to erase her concerns that he might dodge any further concerns, but he knows they’re all simply excuses to her. Even blind, she reads him like a book.

“And with you locked up in your tower, how can we enjoy one another thus?” The finger presses further, more insistent, and he can’t fight the urge to pull against the ropes holding him still. A kiss brushes the tip of his cock, even as her hand slowly continues to pump.

“Relax, dear. I assure you are in good hands.”

Urianger lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, deflating his lungs in one hot, shaky rush. His core loosens its strain, just slightly, and she begins pumping her slender finger at the same slow pace as she works his cock. He swallows and feels the cold gold against the skin of his neck as it undulates, freezing to the flushed, burning skin beneath.

“I know the ache of loneliness all too well, and I know you. I do hope this will breach the dam of your formality towards the rest of us.” She speeds her motions, just a hair, but it’s enough to have Urianger panting for breath. “We do so very much care for you. Blunders and all.”

Another finger presses in next to the first, slick and warm against him, the perfect amount of stretch to have him absolutely _wanting_. The fire in his belly burns hot with this new kindling, a knot slipping ever closer to tautness. The intimacy, the vulnerability, the aching fondness in his chest threatening to burst forth, all serve to add fuel to the roiling emotions which never quite leave him. Never before has he been known this wholly, never before has he let someone close enough to try. Never…

Never, save one.

“You can let go, Urianger,” she whispers, speeding up further, curling her fingers, and—

“ _Let go_.”

Heat lances down his spine as his gut twists in orgasm. It catches him by surprise, unaware of exactly how close he had been to the edge. A low shout slips unbidden from him, breathy and uninhibited and entirely unbecoming as it morphs into a groan. The blindfold is damp, slightly cold, catching the tears which would otherwise make tracks down the sides of his face. She works him through his release until he’s shaking, a low whine in the back of his throat at the overstimulation. Chaste kisses litter his hips, his thighs, bringing him down.

Against his skin, her lips quirk into a smile, ever slight, ever affectionate.

“Good boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> moenbryda, from heaven: YEAH URI!!!! GET IT!!!!!!!!
> 
> i'm a little surprised that this is only the second fic for this ship but y'know what? i make the rules and the rules say i can do what i want
> 
> i'm [@shoutzwastaken](http://twitter.com/shoutzwastaken) if you wanna see more of me doing what i want
> 
> or if you wanna see my friends doing what they want come join [the book club](https://discord.gg/X6NJJAb) we have snacks and good times


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